


by reason of longing for you

by MerlinMerlot



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: 1st person pov from achilles' perspective but that will probably change, Angst, Character Study, M/M, Relationship Study, additional tags to be added when I write more, character deaths I guess?? i mean they're both dead so, originally just drabble but then i kept writing ghkldgs, references to the illiad because i just Can't Help It ghglsdk but no need to have read the epic, this is going to be a slow one folks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26866543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerlinMerlot/pseuds/MerlinMerlot
Summary: Love is but another set of strings played upon by the fingers of fate.Ours was once woven intricately, a cat’s cradle of a hundred threads, a series of figure eights knotted around our swords, fingers, hearts. Ultimately, its role was to fall apart, the final ripple in an exhausted and arrogant war.-A.K.A. two men have a relentless existential crisis and perhaps fall in love again.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus (Hades Video Game)
Kudos: 37





	1. cat's cradle

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!! So I just got into Hades and it's immediately pulled me back into patrochilles!! I've always loved these two so it was nice to get back into writing them after so long. Like I said in the tags this was originally just drabble I put on my twitter account (psst you can find me at @MerlinMerIot) but then I wrote some more!! I'll most likely continue this at a later date when I have more free time but for now, enjoy!

Love is but another set of strings played upon by the fingers of fate. 

Ours was once woven intricately, a cat’s cradle of a hundred threads, a series of figure eights knotted around our swords, fingers, hearts. Ultimately, its role was to fall apart, the final ripple in an exhausted and arrogant war.

Like clockwork, I wept on my lover’s dead body when it came time. I starved, I raged and I screamed at the gods and the people who brought his death, all cards in the moirai’s greater scheme. I blamed him and myself and cried at the injustice of knowing we would forever be buried together but I would never not know the pain of being left behind. 

Cutting the threads short would have been a mercy, but yet I find myself still tied by a taut string, held by but single fibers which stretch the length of the underworld separating him and I. And as painful as it is, I pray he feels its effects the same as I. 

“Do you love him?” How can one love like others when it’s destiny, a single step in a set of stairs towards a preordained end? A pawn in a bigger game placed by crueler players, a pretty tragedy to write, edit, and then look upon and say, “They, I think, are ones who loved the deepest and truest of all”. 

No, our love is even greater than that. It’s larger than the love of my grief, of our mixed ashes, of their deaths in the name of vengeance. It’s more boundless than the love of gods, of fate, of endless cosmic blankets tying us all to its inevitable finish. To love only in these regards would be playing into the very hands of those who terrorized us so. 

Ours is instead love in warmth, in adoration. It’s love in shared smiles and easy pleasures, in laughter and held hands and an understanding that goes beyond the bow of eros. It’s a delight in one another’s company, a kiss that feels as beautiful and simple as the last, a collection of memories in the form of words, gestures, and exchanged glances. It’s a chance to pause, to breath, to look at one another and forget the fates wrought of us both. It’s a quiet, bittersweet longing that still plagues me now. 

They say I was never gentler with anyone but you, Patroclus. Perhaps it’s because when we were close, the cat’s cradle around us felt ever so looser.


	2. river of oblivion

The five rivers of the underworld are at times gods themselves, participating in Olympus’ petty games like all the rest. In Styx's water I was dipped as a child, leaving but my heel vulnerable, a pointed trick played on my mother as if to give doubt to the fact that I could ever escape my prophesied death. The river Phlegethon boiled souls, overflowing onto the once unremarkable meadows to worry and frighten the majority of the shades residing there. There’s the Acheron and the Cocytus rivers of lamentation, wailing, and sorrow, like cold and bitter streams of outstretched hands pleading for actuality. 

And, finally, the Lethe, the river of forgetfulness. In its waves evokes a gift to the residents of Elysium, a way out from eternal undead and a chance at reincarnation, to live out another life once more as another hero. Memories of a previous earthly life, of pain or war or love, would be exchanged for peaceful oblivion, to not be weighed down by mistakes and other grievances. 

When I first made my pact with Hades, I wondered, faintly, what would have occurred if I had remained in Elysium and drank of its water. Surely I would have had a taste or two, just for a moment of obliviousness, though would I chase that feeling so utterly as to relieve myself of my torments and lingering guilt? Would I take the chance to forever feel as if a part of me is missing, some unknown quality leaving me half empty and longing? I’m unsure if even the Lethe could wash away the final fibers tying me to him. 

Though it’s a worry still concerning me now, as I stand and remain guard over the hallway of the House, a civilized capital of the underworld, the prison I volunteered myself to when I gave away my rights to the Elysium. Patroclus, now just another shade in that blissful paradise, could have easily made the decision to be rid of me altogether, a decision I could not fault him for, being the one who put him in that place to begin with. 

Alas, it’s unlikely I’m ever to know. Zagreus, son of the underworld’s god, gains more and more ground every day or night, but even if he were to reach Elysium (which he shall - I have faith enough in the lad), what would be the chances that he meets my love in those endless chambers? Only the fates could decide that, and my trust in those sisters has waned over the years, even if destiny has already run its course with my soul in life. 

“Achilles, sir,” He stands before me now, in his palms another bottle of nectar, a sincere smile played upon his face. Zagreus was always authentic when it came to giving gifts. “Thought you might like this.”

I chuckle to myself lightly, before taking it in my hands. “Lad, I hope you’re not getting the wrong idea from this. I care for you deeply, but... My heart belongs to another.” 

“Oh,” Zagreus grins and shakes his head. “That’s no matter. I just wanted to show you my appreciation, that’s all. I don’t know if I could have gone far out there without your training, sir.”

He pauses, before continuing, “I got as far as Elysium, today. Or, maybe tonight.” Ah.

“Oh, well, that’s good news, lad. That’s quite a lot of progress,” I smile, putting away the nectar. “How did paradise suit you?”

“It was...” He takes a breath and exhales. “It was honestly beautiful. I hadn’t been there before, sir, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like it.” 

“It’s the closest the dead ever get to the surface, lad. There, the best of us all can live out their eternal afterlife in relative peace, or perhaps glory.” I sigh. It's only right that my spot in Elysium would be exchanged for his. I point over to where a familiar cloaked individual stands at the end of the hall. “You’d best be on your way. Wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”

Zagreus looks over and sees his floating friend, scythe sheathed at his back, and nods sheepishly. “Uh, right. I’ll see you later, then, Achilles.” And the god of blood makes his way toward the god of death himself. 

The fates were always fond of foils. Foils of character, of birth, of life and death, and of love. Like a subtle taste of irony to contrast the threads of their interwoven narrative. The shade residing forevermore in Elysium… We were always opposites, in a way. The prideful, vengeful warrior in companionship with the calm, devoted loyalist… We both showed each other a side of ourselves that most didn’t see. And now, I don’t think either of us are quite the same as those two men anymore.


End file.
